Solitary
by Flatpickluvr
Summary: The second story in my "Jail" series.  This picks up where Jail left off.  There is some canon from the Season 8 premiere mixed in with the AU, so be warned there are spoilers for the premiere if you haven't seen it yet.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N – I've decided to make my "Jail" story a series. This is "Solitary", the second story in the series. It picks up where "Jail" left off. Be forewarned, there are spoilers for the season premiere. There is a little bit of canon mixed in with this AU.**

The cell was small. Actually, "small" couldn't really come close to describing it. "Small" was his 7' x 10' wheel chair accessible cell on the first floor in gen pop. "Cramped" was his old 5' x 9' cell on the second tier of gen pop.

"Claustrophobic" could perhaps better describe his current living quarters. The cell was still 5' x 9'; same dimensions as his first cell on the second tier of gen pop.

But this cell was different. It was either too dark or too light. There was no natural light because there was no window to the outside. The lighting consisted of a single very bright fluorescent light which was on all day whether he wanted it on or not. It went off every night at 9 pm whether he wanted it to or not. When the light was on it was too bright; when it was off it was too dark. The cell was either too hot or too cold. The temperature was never right. He wasn't allowed a mattress, at least for the first day here, because it could be torn up and used to hide weapons. He would get a mattress after the first 24 hours. For now, he had to sleep on a bare concrete bench. Other than the food port which, like the other cells, opened, closed and locked from the outside, he had no connection with the outside world.

This was nothing like the wheel chair accessible cell. It was solitary.

That's what you get for bucking the rules. Nobody gave a damn about the fact that the rule he bucked was asinine and had he followed it, would likely have been fatal to someone else. Nobody cared that he saved a life. Nobody except Dr. Jessica Adams, one of the clinic doctors. She'd been fired because of her part in his rule-breaking.

He saved a life. During the few days he'd been waiting for the loan from his 401k to be issued, a fellow inmate came to him with symptoms that kept coming and going. The guy had heard that House was a doctor. House got him to go to the infirmary. The nurse was the same one who had been so good to House. Things got worse for the guy because nobody could figure out what was wrong with him.

House recalled what life must have been like for that doctor in Japan; the baraku, the doctor whom nobody would listen to until they absolutely had no other choice. Here, the prison medical staff had no idea what was wrong with Lupus Boy and they had to listen to this scum of the earth inmate. House had taken to calling himself a degenerate who didn't belong with "normal, nice" people. Now the prison medical staff had no choice but to listen to a degenerate because the degenerate was right.

House's interest was piqued but the clinic doctors wouldn't allow him to see the case file, so he didn't have any of the lab results or the other pertinent information in the file. All House could go on was his observations and assessment skills. In the end, House suspected it was mastocytosis and told the prison clinic staff that. House recommended five aspirin for the guy in order to confirm what was really wrong with him, knowing that aspirin is a known trigger for a mastocytosis attack. Hell, he really saved the guy's life the day before when he did an emergency tracheostomy and saved the guy from suffocating.

But the clinic medical director, an asshole if ever there was one, decided that rules were rules and saving a guy's life wasn't worth breaking one rule. No, he'd rather have House manhandled, bodily thrown face down onto a clinic bed by three big brutes, handcuffed behind his back, thrown into solitary confinement, and have his bail revoked.

Never mind the fact that Wilson had already deposited House's bail check. House's bail money would have been available for him today. Wilson, in fact, was planning on coming in with the money today. Now, bail was highly unlikely because House was in solitary. He'd have to have another day in court, no doubt, because now it seemed apparent that more time was going to be added on to his sentence. The prison had been ordered by the courts to release some inmates due to overcrowding. Not only did House already have his bail ready to post, his name had also been added to the early release list. Either he could have posted bail today or he would have been released today anyway due to overcrowding. Well, technically he wouldn't be _released_; he would still be confined, but he'd have an ankle monitor on and be confined to house arrest at his home.

Now, however, with time added on in solitary confinement, any hope of getting out (at least today) was out of the question. No doubt the court would have revoked his early release and probably revoked his bail too. All because he had a gift for saving lives and used it.

Lupus Boy had mastocytosis. Any idiot doctor knew that mastocytosis, also known as mast-cell disease, is difficult to diagnose by just drawing a blood sample. The type of protein that is elevated in mast-cell disease is very specific and you have to know what to look for. You have to know to look for mast cells. In House's mind, any idiot doctor would know that mast-cell disease can (but doesn't always) manifest itself with a skin rash. If the patient has a skin rash, you biopsy the affected skin. If there is no skin rash, you biopsy whatever other organs might be affected. The disease is often mis-diagnosed because the symptoms mimic other conditions. Mast cells release histamine. Too many mast cells can mean too much histamine so the person has signs and symptoms of an allergic reaction, just like Lupus Boy had. House knew that common triggers can include heat (especially food that's too hot), bug bites, bee stings, aspirin and ibuprofen. There are other triggers too.

This is a jail, after all. House knew that the chances of Lupus Boy dying alone in a cell after another attack, with no doctor nearby, were very high. Hell, he'd already cut a hole in the guy's neck after one attack. Idiot Clinic Director Doctor wanted to try to confirm it with a blood test. House knew better. This being a jail, the chances of Lupus Boy getting a good biopsy were next to nil especially since they really had no idea specifically which organ to biopsy and double especially because Idiot Clinic Director Doctor wouldn't let House see the chart long enough to get all the information he needed. The best, easiest and fastest way to confirm the diagnosis was by using a known trigger that the prison would have on hand: aspirin.

Give the guy five aspirin. Crush them up and mix them in water to make them easier to take for someone with an already sore throat. Yeah. Idiot Clinic Director Doctor wasn't willing to trigger an attack just to confirm the diagnosis. What were they going to do, just let the guy rot there in the bed? It wasn't like anyone even offered or suggested transferring Lupus Boy to a hospital (preferably one with a good diagnostics department) where the diagnosis could be confirmed by biopsy. Nope, they just let him rot there in the bed while Idiot Clinic Director Doctor argued with his employee and inmate House, driving home his point that he wasn't willing to take the risk. House rightly pointed out, of course, that the risk wasn't Idiot Clinic Director Doctor's risk to take; it was the patient's risk, and the patient agreed to the aspirin knowing the consequences. All they had to do was give Lupus Boy the consent. He'd sign it, they'd have their informed consent, and they could do what needed to be done.

But no, Idiot Clinic Director Doctor wouldn't do it. House had often been accused, on the outside, of not following any kind of recognizable code of ethics. The concept of establishing a diagnosis by "ruling out" other conditions is a well-established practice. When the patient's symptoms come and go, like Lupus Boy's did, it's also a well-established practice to diagnose the condition by determining what the triggers are. That's what allergy testing is all about. You administer small doses of different allergens until you get a reaction; that's how allergies are diagnosed. The concept of administering aspirin to trigger a mastocytosis attack, in order to confirm the diagnosis, was obviously risky but no more risky than doing any other kind of allergy testing. Lupus Boy was in a clinic equipped with emergency resuscitation equipment should it be necessary. A reaction from the aspirin not only confirms the diagnosis but is easy to treat with an injection of epinephrine to stop the reaction.

But apparently things didn't work this way in jail. Apparently an inmate's life was expendable. House never saw lives as expendable. In House's mind, an ethical doctor didn't let a patient wither away and possibly die, undiagnosed and untreated. An ethical doctor did what was necessary to diagnose and treat the patient. In many of House's difficult cases on the outside, treatment was often the fastest way to confirm a diagnosis. If they responded to the treatment, it was easier to rule in a correct diagnosis. Since prison officials would not do the obvious thing, which was to get Lupus Boy transferred to a decent medical center for proper care, House knew he had to take matters in his own hands. He had to do the right thing. And the right thing was to use his gift to diagnose and fix the guy.

As a result of saving Lupus Boy's life twice, he was now stuck in solitary confinement.


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N – I'm not a legal expert of any kind. I watch a lot of reality TV shows about jails which is where I got most of my information. If I got the legal terminology or procedures a little bit wrong, I apologize. I try to be accurate about everything.**

House had nothing to do in these close confines, locked down 23 hours a day, but dwell on his current situation. There was nothing positive about any of this. Nothing at all. He'd said he didn't want to go back to medicine and now he was one hundred percent sure about that. He'd already been about 99% sure he didn't want to go back to medicine before he even met Nick (Lupus Boy). A profession in which a practitioner would rather let a guy get sicker and possibly die than perform a somewhat risky procedure to diagnose the guy wasn't a profession he wanted to go back to anymore.

That comment about teaching physics at the University of Fiji was no joke.

He was able to call Wilson and he was able, of course, to call his attorney, Sam Bell. Sam confirmed that a period of solitary confinement had been added to House's sentence. House hadn't broken any laws, but he had violated a prison regulation which stipulated that patients' medical records were confidential and could not be accessed by other inmates. Idiot Clinic Director Doctor Sykes filed the complaint. Apparently it didn't matter that House made no attempt to get the medical record; it was handed to him by a prison official; another doctor, no less.

Sam said he would have to confirm with the judge whether bail conditions had changed or not. Sam said if bail conditions hadn't changed, House could still post his original bail. That might involve another hearing or perhaps Sam could simply file a motion with the court to have his bail staid. Sam said he would file the motion today; if the judge agreed, they'd find out within a day or so and House could bail out immediately pending the judge's decision. If the judge denied the motion, Sam would get another hearing to determine his new bail conditions. Sam felt fairly sure the judge would stay his bail, so he could post the original bail amount and be out within a few days. House actually felt a little encouraged by his call with Sam.

The phone call with Wilson was a whole different ballgame. Wilson tried the tough love approach again. After angrily reminding Wilson that they only had a few minutes on the phone, House said, "Look, this isn't accomplishing anything. I kind of wish I hadn't called you. I just didn't want you running over here with my money today when I probably won't get out today. You're right. We do need to talk. But I can't hear any more lectures. We can't do this on the phone. If you still wanna come in today you can. I don't wanna be rude or anything but they're gonna cut this call off. Are you still coming?"

"Yeah," Wilson said with a sigh that could be heard for miles. House could just imagine that Wilson was probably ready to give up on him again. House, however, was growing tired of tip-toeing around Wilson. Friends help friends in need. Lovers do even more. House had almost given up his life, by undergoing the deep brain stimulation, for his friend. If Wilson wasn't willing to do what friends (and especially lovers) do, then maybe Wilson wasn't the kind of guy he needed.

Maybe he really was better off alone.

But he needed Wilson. He also needed to get his own life in order.

House had thought for some time that maybe his issue with Wilson might have something to do with Wilson personalizing everything. It seemed to House that every time he did something risky or stupid, Wilson took it as a personal insult. Wilson seemed to take House's controversial, contentious, sometimes litigious behavior as a slap in the face, some kind of personal evidence that House didn't value their friendship or whatever else he might want their relationship to evolve into.

Alone in his solitary cell, House had nothing to do BUT dwell on all of this. He couldn't just switch his mind off.

Then there was Cuddy.

He had mixed feelings about what he'd done to her house. Objectively, of course he knew what he did was wrong. Subjectively, he wasn't so sure about how he felt. Was he remorseful? Yes and no.

There had been a lot of deceitful, downright rotten behavior from both of them during their brief and tumultuous sexual relationship. There were some good times, too. There were times when he actually dared to hope that this romance could last. One of those times was when he got involved with Rachel trying to get her into Waldenwood's pre-school. At the end of the play date, when Cuddy asked her daughter if she'd played with the toys before, Rachel looked at House and lied like a pro. House actually felt proud; like he and the little girl had finally struck up a relationship. Like he might be a good father for Rachel.

The deceitful behavior had been going on for years, long before he and Cuddy hooked up sexually. The problem was, it was just flirting and harmless fun for all those years. After they took the next step, the same behavior that had been flirty and fun wasn't fun anymore. Now it was serious. The little harmless lies suddenly weren't harmless anymore. Neither party was innocent.

House always said he didn't want to play the blame game; that their relationship was doomed from the start and the fact that it lasted as long as it did was actually pretty amazing. Deep down, though, he held on to a lot of blame. He blamed her. He blamed her for telling him she didn't want him to change, but in the end she told him that he would never change, that he would always pick himself over everyone else. She did want him to change. She broke up with him because she thought he hadn't changed and couldn't change. Oh, he could go on and on. He blamed her for getting him into trouble with her mother when he told her from the very beginning that neither he nor she should be involved with her mother's health care. She played him, convincing him to do something he knew he should steer clear of, and when the shit hit the walls, she let him take the fall for it. He blamed her immensely. He blamed her for not seeing the damage she did by breaking up with him. He blamed her for being able to move on when he himself could not do that.

And he knew that he was to blame for some of the problems too. That hurt almost as much as the things she had said and done.

So here House was, alone, literally and figuratively.

What was the price to pay for saving a guy's life and breaking a prison rule in the process? Loneliness. Was the deed worth the punishment? Yes, and he'd do it again and again and again.

What was the price to pay for testing every interpersonal relationship he'd ever had? Loneliness. When things got too serious, he had to test the waters. He remembered the time he told Wilson he borrowed ever increasing amounts of money from him just to test the strength of their friendship.

Was the deed worth the punishment? No. Whatever he'd done, whatever his part in the breakup was, it wasn't worth what he was going through now. He hoped Cuddy was going through at least a fraction of the kind of mental anguish he was suffering now.


	3. Chapter 3

"Cuff up. You got a visitor." This terse announcement was accompanied by a harsh, loud knock on his cell door.

Startled out of his reverie, House responded by silently limping to the door, turning his back, and sticking his hands out of the food port to be handcuffed.

Now that he was in solitary, handcuffs were not an option when being escorted anywhere outside of his cell. Hell, he was lucky he even got visitation at all. It was up to the prison staff to determine when and if inmates in solitary confinement (also known as the Hole) could see visitors. Most of them didn't get that luxury. For most of them, visitation was simply too risky. Everyone was entitled to see their attorney, but most inmates in the hole were not entitled to any other visitation. The warden decided to allow once a week visitation for House because he wasn't violent and because the only visitor who ever came to see House had been thoroughly screened. Wilson's visits to this point had been uneventful. As long as they remained uneventful, House would be allowed to continue once a week visitation with Wilson.

House walked into the little visitation booth looking like a ghost. His hair was shaggy and a little on the wild side. His beard needed a trim. He didn't look like he'd lost any weight but he was noticeably pale. He was limping more heavily than usual too. Wilson hadn't seen him look this bad in a long time. House sat down across the table from Wilson with his hands still handcuffed behind his back. _They're not even going to let his hands free,_ Wilson thought.

"Guess you know I got locked up," House said.

"You're already locked up."

"No, I mean LOCKED UP locked up. I got thrown in the hole."

Wilson just looked at him and didn't say anything.

"Don't you wanna know why?"

"Will it make any difference?" Wilson asked.

"No. I saved a guy."

"You save people all the time."

"I did an emergency tracheotomy in the guy's cell and diagnosed him with mastocytosis by giving him five aspirin."

"Congratulations. Pretty ordinary for you. Why'd they lock you up?"

"Because I wasn't supposed to have access to the guy's file and because my way of confirming his diagnosis was not in the prison's policy book of acceptable diagnostic techniques."

"You mean you stole his file and did the test against his wishes."

"No. I actually didn't even want to see the guy in the first place. He kept coming to me with various aches and pains. Then things got interesting but I still never asked to see his file. The clinic doctor gave it to me. The medical director caught me with the file in my hand and it didn't matter that I didn't take it."

"So why didn't they want to do the trigger test? It's just like allergy testing. No big deal as long as they have resuscitation equipment handy," Wilson said.

"It's the same old thing, Wilson. You've heard it before. It's practically my motus operandi. Considering the fact that I'd already had to do a trach or the guy would have died in my arms, he needed to be diagnosed as fast as possible. Dumbass medical director wanted to do a blood test. We all know blood tests have to be very specific to diagnose mastocytosis and the fastest way to diagnose it is to go through the list of known triggers and see what triggers the reaction. Well maybe we don't ALL know, but I know. The guy almost suffocated after eating hot food and drinking coffee. Heat is a trigger. So is aspirin. Dumbass clinic medical director would have sat there and let the guy die while running meaningless blood tests. His lackey agreed with me about the diagnosis but initially chickened out when I suggested the test. I told Dr. Dumbass he was a moron and a coward, went over to do it myself, three brutes tackled me, and then his lackey did the test. I got thrown in the hole but I was right."

"And you knew the consequences but did it anyway."

House looked at Wilson like he had four heads. "Of course! Doing a blood test when chances are pretty damn good the moron didn't even know what protein markers to look for would have been pointless. You know it and I know it. Even his lackey knew it. I couldn't just let him continue to get worse when the fastest way to diagnose him was sitting four feet away from me."

"But you knew before you did the test that if you did it, they might revoke your bail, throw you in solitary and you'd wind up here longer. You would have faced additional charges too if the patient didn't agree to the test and it was done against his will."

"Of course. The guy begged me to give him the aspirin. He said he almost died once and if taking aspirin was all that was required to establish a diagnosis, he was willing to take the risk. Wilson, it was his risk to take."

"Well, I hope it was worth it."

"I was right and the guy is better BECAUSE I was right. You remember when Vegetative State guy hung himself in that hotel room and donated his heart to his kid? He asked me what I would like to hear from my father on his deathbed. He wanted me to pass on a message from him to his kid. I said I wanted my dad to tell me "You were right. You did the right thing." Well I did the right thing. Compromise is wrong."

After a few moments, Wilson said "Ok. Apparently it was worth getting thrown in solitary and possibly lengthening your sentence. I don't even have any idea if you can still bail out, but I have your bail money. Will they let you keep that much cash in here or how do I handle that?"

"Well let's ask Mr. T over there. Hey, Alvarez, take me up front. I'm bailing out today."

"I gotta take you back to your cell and get your caseworker. Need to make sure they didn't revoke your bail or change it after you got put in solitary. Sometimes that happens. You gotta go back to your cell first. Sorry, but those are the rules."

"Yeah, and we all know how important rules are. Gotta follow every one of them. I want to talk to my caseworker now. Here. In the visitation room."

"No can do. Caseworker comes back to your cell. Once you're in solitary, that's the rule."

House glared at Alvarez. Alvarez glared at House and made a move for his radio.

"Ah, put that down. I'm going peacefully," House said as he struggled again to get up from the chair with his hands handcuffed behind him. "Not too comfortably, though. Come on, Alvarez, you see me struggling here. You got my hands cuffed behind me. Give me a hand."

Alvarez did so, but carefully. He knew that inmates could lure guards into a vulnerable position and then attack; even disabled handcuffed inmates were not above attacking a guard when the situation presented itself. Over the years House's upper body strength had become much more developed than a typical adult who walked normally. All that cane usage gave him a lot of arm and shoulder muscle development, particularly on the right side. Once in awhile it also caused his shoulder to ache unmercifully. He was truly nobody to fool with. Alvarez was just acting with appropriate caution when he approached House slowly.

House wasn't about to mess things up any more than they already were. He had no intention of doing anything violent. He actually respected Alvarez and anyway, his bail money was sitting two feet in front of him in Wilson's briefcase. After Alvarez helped him to his feet, House made his own way slowly and carefully back to his cell, sans cane, with Alvarez following closely behind.

Once House was gone, Wilson let out a breath that he didn't even realize he was holding. Drama always followed House around like a puppy following its master. Slowly, Wilson rose to his feet and went out to the prison lobby. He put in a request with the desk sergeant in the lobby to see House's caseworker.

"Sorry, he's with a client now," the desk sergeant said. "It looks like he's got clients all morning long. I will let him know you're here if you'd like to wait."

"I have no choice BUT to wait. I need to talk to the caseworker ASAP," Wilson said resignedly. "Which client is he with now?"

The desk sergeant looked at Wilson as if to say _I really, REALLY wish you would shut the hell up and leave me alone._ "I have no idea and if I did I wouldn't be allowed to say. All I can do is let him know you're here." With that, the desk sergeant text messaged the caseworker: "A guy in the lobby needs to talk to you ASAP."

From caseworker: "What inmate is he here about?"

From desk sergeant: "Inmate House 020406."

From caseworker: "That's who I'm with now. Tell him I'll be out to see him in about 20 minutes."

"Mr. Wilson? The caseworker should be out to talk with you in about 20 minutes," the desk sergeant announced at the top of his lungs to the only guy waiting in the waiting room – Wilson.

About 40 minutes later a decidedly inexperienced and nervous young man came out to meet Wilson. He looked to be fresh out of college. _Some young liberal do-gooder. This is a good place for do-gooders but I guess he just got a good dose of House._

"Hi, Dr. Wilson? I'm Alan Smith, Dr. House's caseworker. I'm a social worker trained to work with inmates and help them navigate the prison system. I met with your friend."

"And you managed to survive. Good for you. I have his bail money. I need to know how to bail someone out."

"Well now, we need to talk about that. He's on the phone with his attorney now. As far as I know, his bail is still the same and he should be able to bail out today. Here's how it works. You can't give him the money. Inmates are only allowed to use the money they came in with, which we have locked up in the property room. Since the money was not in his possession when he came in, he can't have it now."

"I guess that's why you look so nervous. He must have given you holy hell about that."

"Yeah, to say the least. He says it's still his money even though he didn't come in with it in his pockets. But I've heard worse from other inmates. The steps are: First, we wait for approval from the court for him to bail out, which he's taking care of now with his attorney. Second, once the approval comes down from the court and they confirm the bail amount with us, you go to the cashier's window over there and post his bail. Third, after we've confirmed with the court that the transaction is ok, which usually takes just a few minutes, you get a receipt. He gets a receipt and all the other court documentation he's going to need for his court appearance, because he still has to go to court. Bail just gets him out of jail until his court date. He still has to be tried in court for his charge at whatever later date the court sets. After everyone gets the appropriate paperwork, he changes back into street clothes and we prep him for release. Assuming his bail is okayed by the court, the whole process takes about an hour. I would stress with him, though, since he seems to care about what you have to say, that if he fails to appear for his scheduled court date, he'll be re-arrested and then the chances are very likely he won't be able to bail out. He can't miss his court dates."

"You said he 'cares about what I have to say'. What did he tell you?" Wilson asked, slightly guarded and suspicious.

"Conversations between myself and my clients are confidential and the only other person with any right to know what was said is the client's attorney. I can tell you that he insisted I explain the whole bail process to you, step by step. I can tell that he's very detail oriented and he didn't want any details to be skipped or missed. He did seem very worried; no more so than most other inmates in the same situation, but he kept insisting that I explain all the steps to you and make sure you knew exactly what to do."

"House thinks almost everyone else is a moron and a liar. He trusts nobody, so I'm not surprised he insisted you explain every little God-forsaken damn detail to me like I'm a kindergartner or something. Well, now I know, so I guess the next step is just wait until I hear from an official about the bail, right?"

"Next step is I go back and contact the judge who set his bail. As soon as I can get through to the judge or the court clerk, I'll find out about the bail. Sometimes they fax that information back right away; other times it takes hours, depending on how busy they are. I'll be in touch with you directly. It's reasonable to wait here if you can."

Alan left abruptly because his phone was ringing. His conversations had to be as confidential as possible so Alan made a dash for his office to continue this conversation on his cell phone.

"Approved? How much?" Alan said. "Ok, I'll be waiting for the fax."

Ten minutes later the fax from the circuit clerk's office arrived on Alan's secure fax machine. House's original bail agreement was still valid. He could bail out today.


	4. Chapter 4

Alan came back out to the prison waiting room. As before, Wilson was the only one there. Wilson looked around wondering why nobody else was there for any other inmates.

"Good news. His bail conditions have not changed. He can still bail out today, assuming he's not back there right now getting any more write ups. I just got the fax from the circuit clerk's office. Give our computers here a few minutes to update with the current information from the circuit clerk's office, and then the cashier can accept the money."

Great. House could bail out today. Wilson had a few practical concerns which were actually House's concerns, but Wilson being Wilson, he couldn't help but worry about them too. Wilson knew he should stop caring about this shit, that the more he worried about stuff like this, the more House would LET him worry about it. He needed to let House take care of all his own problems. It was great that House took care of his own bail, and that was a huge step in the right direction. Wilson wondered how responsible House would be once he was out. Would he flee the country, this time successfully? Would he see that "doing the right thing" in this case meant not running from his problems for once?

On one hand, Wilson loved this man so deeply it hurt. In every other relationship he'd ever been in, when things started to go south, he or the other person would bail. House had always been there for Wilson when things went south in his other relationships.

With House, they were in it together come hell or high water. Things had gone south between them many times and yet they still came up together eventually, thrashing and gasping for air.

Wilson pondered, not for the first time, that it was increasingly difficult not to take House's crazy impulsive behavior personally. It's hard not to when it's coming from someone you love. House never seemed to be able to understand that the consequences for his behavior were much more catastrophic to Wilson and everyone else around him than the behavior itself was.

Wilson was afraid of the consequences for House should he do something even crazier to avoid the law again once he was out of jail. He had no idea what kind of House would actually walk out of that jail.

Wilson waited the few minutes as requested, then made his way over to the cashier's desk.

"You're here to bail someone out?" was the terse question.

"Yes. Gregory House. I have a copy of the fax from the court with the bail terms on it," Wilson said. _Interpersonal skills, especially politeness, must not be high on their priority list,_ Wilson decided.

"Just a minute. I haven't received the info from the court yet. It should be in the computer in a few minutes." _In other words, hurry up and wait._

"I've been waiting quite a while," Wilson began, but just as he began talking, the clerk interrupted him. "Hold on, it's coming through now."

"Bail is set at $25,000 US dollars."

Wilson began pulling out thousand dollar bills from his briefcase. He could have gotten a cashier's certified check, but someone had told him that the jail only accepted cash for bail or bond payments. He kept looking nervously about the room, as if he were terrified he was going to be robbed at any minute. The clerk just looked bored, as if she'd seen this kind of cash plenty of times before. Wilson mused, _I guess drug dealers have that kind of cash on them all the time. She must be used to seeing thousand dollar bills._

When Wilson finished pulling the cash out of his briefcase, the bored clerk called a guard over. They both counted the money, the guard locked it up, the clerk finished House's paperwork and keyed some stuff into the computer. A few minutes later she got confirmation from the circuit clerk in the computer that the bail payment was accepted and House was OK to be released on bail. The guard called upstairs for House to be prepped for release.

Wilson had brought House's cane but when he arrived for his visit earlier, the jail required him to keep House's cane in his car. After House's bail was posted and approved, the jail consented for Wilson to bring House's cane in. Wilson wasn't allowed to directly give House his cane. This was really just another rule that was a necessary evil. For safety's sake, while the inmate was still in the custody of the Mercer County Jail, guards had to handle prepping the inmate for release. This included returning personally owned mobility aids to an inmate.

House's clothing, shoes, wallet and watch were in the prison's safe, and the guard would give them to him along with his cane before he was released. He was not out of the jail's custody until he walked off the elevator on the ground floor and crossed the threshold of the jail's outside door. Even in the prison lobby, if he acted out, he was still in the jail's custody and would just be handcuffed and taken right back again. They had to be very careful with every inmate.

Up on House's cellblock, all hell broke loose when a guard came to solitary to get House. As he left solitary and was escorted through his old cellblock, the other inmates resumed their jeering. House glared extra hard right back at them. They were daring him to throw the first punch. It took all of his self control not to give them what they wanted.

He had no idea where the guard was taking him. If he'd had a visitor, the visit would've taken place back in the small visiting area in solitary. If Wilson had posted bail, as was expected, the guard would have told him immediately. This was odd. House asked where he was being taken, and the guard simply replied, "I got orders to take you to the warden's office."

_Oh shit._ House had no idea what he was in trouble for this time. He hadn't done anything wrong, at least not within the last few hours, to warrant a trip to the warden's office.

They got to the warden's office. Alan (his caseworker), the warden, and Dr. Sykes (the medical director of the infirmary) were waiting inside. The guard escorting House uncuffed him. House sat down at a table across from the other people and the guard went back to the door.

"Inmate House, bail has been posted. It is very unusual to be able to bail out directly from solitary. You are not free. You are being released on house arrest. You will be fitted with an ankle monitor. You are limited to your home, your place of employment, and the Mercer County Pain Clinic. You are not on parole and you are not free to go anywhere else. If you must go somewhere else besides those three places you are required to call the phone number attached to the ankle monitor and report where you are going. You are not permitted to cross state lines under any circumstances. This means you are not permitted in the state of New York or the state of Pennsylvania under any circumstances. You will report to your next scheduled court date or you will be re-arrested. You will be escorted to the release area where you'll be fitted with the ankle monitor and a copy of these release instructions will be given to you. Guard, please escort the inmate out."

"I'm not allowed to ask any questions?" House asked.

"No," the warden replied as House rose from the chair to be escorted out.

"Inmate House, you will be given a written referral for the Mercer County Pain Clinic when you get the rest of your paperwork in the release area. They'll take care of your Methadone there," the doctor said.

If bail had been posted, then that must mean Wilson posted it. House hoped desperately that Wilson would actually wait around for him and not just post the money and leave.

That ride down the elevator with the guard was the longest elevator ride House had ever been on. The floor numbers were marked inside the elevator, but not what was actually on each floor. There were two doors on the elevator; one in front and one in the rear. They had entered through the front door. When the elevator arrived on the first floor, the rear door opened. It was a one way exit for inmates being released. House's heart began to beat just a little bit faster when he saw the sign directing inmates and staff to the release area. Fifty more feet to freedom.

About halfway down the hallway leading to the jail's public waiting room (freedom), they had to turn left into the Inmate Release Holding Area. Inmates were placed individually in small holding cells until it was their turn to be seen by the clerk and processed for release. In the holding cell, each inmate was given their street clothes if they were still wearable, or a pair of prison issued jeans and a tee shirt if their street clothes were no longer wearable. After each inmate stripped out of their prison attire and into street clothes, they remained in the holding cell until their name was called to be taken before the clerk. Inmates in this area were NOT released from the jail's custody until they actually walked over the threshold of the jail's external door. If they acted out in here, boom, they were taken right back from whence they came.

Like everywhere else in the jail, there was no privacy in the Inmate Release Holding Area. Inmates had to strip and dress in full view of everyone else. This was a safety precaution, since inmates can and do hide things in all sorts of places. Stripping and dressing in full view of everyone was something House was sure he would never get used to, and he fervently hoped this would be the last time he'd have to do that.

Dressed in his usual jeans, rock tee and his old Nikes, House sat anxiously in his holding cell counting down the minutes until his name was called to be escorted to the clerk's counter. There appeared to be only one clerk and at least ten or so inmates waiting, each in individual holding cells, to be released. House watched as one inmate went through the release process. He thought it would just be a matter of signing some paperwork and then the inmate would go, but the inmate currently in the process of being released appeared to have been in this process for at least half an hour and wasn't finished yet. House realized his wait could be a long one. How long would Wilson wait for him?

House started tapping out a complicated drum rhythm on the wall in time to a melody he played in his head. The song was Led Zeppelin's "Kashmir", a song House played often on his Les Paul Custom in open D tuning. After he finished tapping out the drum rhythm, he went back through the melody in his head playing air guitar.

After what seemed like an absolute eternity, during which he went through the song four times rehearsing different instrument parts in his head, they finally called his name. Inmates in this area were still not released and the holding cell doors were locked. Inmates still required a guard escort even just to go from the holding cell to the clerk's counter to be processed for release. House's prison issued cane was taken from him by the guard before he got to the clerk's desk. A cane can be used as a weapon and there was no protection between the inmate and the clerk other than a guard and a thin countertop. House was not handcuffed, this time, when the holding cell door was opened and he was escorted to the clerk's spot at the counter.

He noted with dismay that there were no chairs at the counter. Inmates normally stood for the release process. Without a cane, it was difficult for him to stand in one place longer than a few minutes. He shifted painfully to get his weight off of his right leg. He leaned on the counter to help in the effort to get his weight off his right leg, and immediately the guard reacted as if House was trying to attack the clerk. "Hold on, hold on! I just need a chair. My leg hurts," House said to the guard.

"Why didn't you say that instead of leaning over the counter like that? See that boundary tape on the countertop? Inmate hands are not permitted over the boundary. Here, I got a chair," the guard muttered as he dragged a chair over for House.

"Gee, thanks for the hospitality." House ground out bitterly between grunts as he sat down gratefully.

Then the questioning began. The clerk had House's paperwork and apparently had a checklist full of questions to ask before House could sign his paperwork. "Wouldn't it be quicker if you just gave me the damn paperwork?" House said sarcastically.

"Be quiet and let her finish," said the guard standing right behind him.

After about fifteen minutes of asking the stupidest, most inane questions imaginable, many of which House had already answered over and over again at various times during his incarceration, another guard came out with an ankle monitor. House stared at it. It looked like a black Ipod with big, wide nylon straps. The guard did something to it to turn it on and then began to attach it to House's right leg.

"Uh uh. It needs to go on my left leg."

With a sigh, as if having to remove it and reattach it to House's left leg was an extraordinary inconvenience, the guard attached it to House's left ankle. The straps were fastened inside the thing that looked like an Ipod and then the black plastic cover was locked shut. The guard instructed House as to its use and gave him a printed sheet with the instructions in writing.

"Your ankle monitor is not removable. You are not able to turn it off. You are to wear it at all times, even in the tub or shower. It's waterproof. The phone number on this sheet is also printed on your ankle monitor. You are to call this number immediately upon reaching your residence. You must call the number within fifteen minutes of entering your door. After the initial call, you're limited to your home, your place of employment and the Mercer County Pain Clinic. If you have to go anywhere else in Mercer County, you're required to call the number and report to them ahead of time. You are not permitted, under any circumstances, outside of Mercer County."

With that, the guard was finished applying his ankle monitor.

The clerk handed House a large packet of paperwork. Many pieces of paper required his signature.

The first was an inventory of his belongings at the jail. House already had his street clothes and shoes. Another clerk brought a small bag out from another room, containing his watch, wallet and the money that was in his wallet. After the clerk and House counted and verified those things, House signed the inventory sheet.

The second was another copy of the instructions for his ankle monitor. House had to sign that.

The third was a document from the court explaining his charge, his next scheduled court date and the courtroom where he was to report. The consequences for not reporting to his scheduled court date were spelled out in **bold,** CAPITAL letters. House had to sign that.

The fourth was a receipt proving that his $25,000 bail had been posted and approved. Wilson had already signed that, but House had to sign it too.

The fifth was a document explaining consequences for attempting to cut his ankle monitor off, for missing his scheduled court appearance, for missing his initial call to the monitor number within fifteen minutes of arriving home the first time, and for missing any scheduled appointments with the Mercer County Pain Clinic. That last one was a new one for House. _Wait, the pain clinic is a court requirement?_ Basically, the consequences were really just one big consequence – re-arrest.

"Wait. What about this last thing? Since when is the pain clinic a court requirement?" House asked, incredulous.

"It's a condition of your release. Sign it," the clerk said monotonously.

"What the hell," House muttered as he signed the damn form.

"Where's my cane? I had my own cane when I came in here. I need it back now."

"We don't have it," the clerk answered. The clerk had no idea where his cane was.

"I can't walk out of here on my own without the cane."

"You can't walk out of here on your own anyway. A guard's escort is required until you walk out the door."

"I need my damn cane!" House yelled, beginning to get very upset. "You can't see me here rubbing my damn leg? I've walked as far as I can go without my cane. I need my cane!" House was yelling louder and louder, dangerously close to the point of having to be taken back to the holding cell to calm down. Everyone in the room looked at him nervously, like he was about to explode or something.

"You can use a wheel chair. We don't have your cane. We gave you back everything we took from you when you came in. You signed the inventory. Your cane was not among those items," the clerk answered.

"I'm not going out in a wheel chair! I didn't come in in a wheel chair, and I'm not going out in one."

"Calm down and stop yelling. She didn't say you had to ride in one. You can hold on to the handles of the wheel chair and push it, if you want. We just don't have your cane. If we did, it would have been in the inventory with your other stuff and we'd have given it back to you. Get up. We're done here. I have a wheel chair. You either leave peacefully with the chair or you go back into a holding cell until you calm down. Either way you're done here," the guard announced firmly.

"Fine," House ground out bitterly. He stood up from the chair, holding on to his side of the counter for balance. His leg was killing him. It was almost time for his second dose of Methadone. All this stress just made things worse. He made sure not to place his hands too close to the tape on the counter indicating the inmate boundary. "Let's go," he said, reaching out for the handles on the wheel chair. The small bag containing his wallet, money and watch was placed on the seat of the wheel chair. The guard followed House on their way out to the public waiting room.

A sign was prominently displayed over the locked door leading to the public waiting room. "You are leaving Mercer County Jail. Inmates are under the custody of Mercer County Jail until exiting the front door," it said in big, bold letters.

The guard unlocked the door, and House was escorted into a small, cramped but pleasantly decorated waiting room reserved for people waiting for released inmates. It was empty except for Wilson and a guard.

Wilson stood up and looked a little forlorn as he handed House his familiar brown wooden cane. No, it wasn't really _forlorn_. A more accurate description, House decided, was _tired and disgusted._

"Don't look that way. Thank you for coming, but you didn't have to stay. I could have ridden the bus home," House said, with a tinge of anger in his voice.

"House, stop trying to piss me off. You're shocked that I waited for you. Well, I told you I wasn't going away, and I'm not. I look like this because I'm exhausted and the stress of worrying about you all the time has completely worn me out. You try your best to piss me off and you try your best to drive me away but it isn't working this time. Now shut up and get in the damn car," Wilson said with just a hint of a smile.

**A/N – and so "Solitary" ends. I'll start posting the next story in the series in a few days. Meanwhile, please review! Your reviews mean so much to me. Thanks!**


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